Rouen
by Zebvlun
Summary: France had been trying his best to avoid going to Rouen for the past centuries because the place reminds him of his saddest memories. But what really happens whenever he visits Rouen? No pairings... I guess? XD Dedicated to St. Joan of Arc  oneshot


**_A/N: _**_'Patrie' means fatherland_

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><p>You might expect that a nation like me frequently visits every corner of the country we represent. To most of us, it might be true, but certainly not to me.<p>

I don't hate Rouen, no, not at all. It's not Rouen I hate, but myself when I am there. Oh, you thought I love myself too much? Well, _mon ami, _think again. If you were not able to do anything to save the girl who did everything to save you, tell me, will you still love yourself as much as you think I do? I know you won't; unless you don't have a loving heart, that is. Well, as for me, I am the country of love. And I loathed myself because of how the Maid of Orléans met her end.

So now, it is with a heavy heart that I trod the pavements of Rouen. I have been trying my best to avoid this place for almost a millennium. Because, although centuries have passed, I could still see the smoke, I could still feel the fire and, most of all, I could still see that wooden stake where the marketplace used to be. A plain recollection of memories with her fills me with guilt, what more if I could almost see her now?

As I approached the area where she was executed, my eyes began to deceive me. This whole town of Rouen seemed to change… change back to how it used to be on that thirtieth of May. The next thing I knew, I was standing in the middle of that same crowd, my emotions making it unbearable for me to get in front. For there she was, my faithful Jeanne. Her body harshly bound by those evil ropes to the wooden stake which was equally cursed. Oh how dare those tongues of infernal fire lick a sacred being such as her!

As for me, I stood frozen in my spot, concealed by a clay-colored cloak. I can never accept that after having fought and won all those battles for me, my Jeanne would have to perish like this. And I did not even do anything as she was burned in front of my eyes! During those nine months when she was wrapped in chains, I was not able to rescue her. What kind of fatherland am I?

In fact, I tried, but never succeeded. For several times, I stealthily slipped into the prison that kept her. I had great plans to get her out of that cell; but Jeanne, she refused to escape with me. She always said, "It is not God's will that I escape with you, _Patrie. _Therefore, it will not be done." Oh damn God! Damn God! Damn God! What kind of God wanted His daughter, His ever-faithful servant, to suffer like that?

And while I sobbed silently behind my hood, I heard her voice. I heard my angel's voice once more… one last more.

"Jesus! Jesus!" she called out through the flames, with her pious eyes fixed on a crucifix.

"Jeanne d'Arc!" I faintly whispered through my tears.

Why call for Him when I am here? Just one word, one call for me, your _patrie,_ and I won't hesitate to jump into the flames and rescue you! Or if my attempt to save you fails, let me, at least, stay within the flames and burn with you!

Suddenly, everything vanished. The crowd, the fire, the stake and the martyr saint were all gone. All that's left is me, the man who represents _République Française, _haunted by my memories in this modern town of Rouen.

Throughout the centuries that came and went after the inquisition of my brave Jeanne, these memories granted me sorrow. I never got tired of hoping that all the tears I shed for her would have been enough to extinguish those flames, or that the guilt and hatred I felt would have been enough to tear the ropes that tied her. Until now, I can't help but ask God why He had to let her die that way. I say, that's the worst joke God had ever made to me!

But as a country, I know I can never keep myself from going here to Rouen. Because I know that for the past centuries, and for all the centuries to come, Rouen is a part of me… just like my Jeanne d'Arc.

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><p><strong><em>Author's Note:<em>**

_When I was writing this story, the only reference I had __about St. Joan of Arc is this 'Book of Saints' and the information it had about her is not thoroughly detailed... so, I'm not entirely sure about the stuffs I wrote in here.__and I wrote this story also because of that book... I've first read about her in the 'Book of Saints' and her tale really touched me~_

-O-_  
><em>

_But I know I am not of worth_

_to dedicate this work of mine_

_to her whose valiant deeds brought forth_

_inspiration amidst decline._

_Though I, too, cannot cry enough_

_mournful tears that could extinguish_

_those flames that treated her so rough_

_and subjected her to anguish._

-O-_  
><em>

_The feast day of St. Joan of Arc is on May 30... just sayin~ XD  
><em>

**REVIEW AND REVIEW! :D****_  
><em>**


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